


Can't Turn My Back On You, Eurydice

by TheBlackLagoon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fix It, Greek myth inspiration, M/M, Orpheus and Eurydice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackLagoon/pseuds/TheBlackLagoon
Summary: Spring is coming to Hawkins. Flower buds bursting from the ground, the sun escaping through the grey cloud fronts. Rebirth, warmth, and cracks through the very fabric of the universe are what await Steve Harrington in the spring of 1986.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Kudos: 12





	Can't Turn My Back On You, Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd keep this short and sweet, and I hope you like this Leo! <3

_“It’s an old tale from way back when, and we’re going to sing it again and again.”_

Spring comes to Hawkins on a soft warm wind, melting the harsh frost of the winter, nudging flowers into bloom, and waking ghosts from their slumber. Steve would have been the last to believe that final one- he's gotten pretty used to death already at eighteen and a half. But when he catches sight of Billy Hargrove through the front window of the Family Video all preconceived notions of lasting death flew out of his mind. 

Robin tells him later, after pulling him from his search through the strip malls parking lot, that it was the stress of what they saw that past summer, triggered by its anniversary just months away. He half believed her. It had been so quick, that flash of blue eyes, catching his. But he had seemed so solid. 

He believes Robin until he's back home, raking out the soon to be opened pool in his back yard when Billy Hargrove appears over his shoulder. Just standing there reflected in the silt dredged water. He looks unchanged, hair kempt and face unmarred. Alive and whole, as if he'd just stepped out in as ostentatious of an entrance as possible. Of course, as soon as Steve whirls around there is nothing to be seen, and Billy is nothing more than a ripple in the water again. 

And maybe even then Steve could brush it off. A weird catch of the light, a waking dream but- it keeps happening. Billy Hargrove in his bathroom mirror, in the reflection of customer's glasses, in puddles on the roadside. Steve doesn't mention any of these to Robin, because it feels fragile and unsure- or maybe that's how he feels. He doesn't know what to do with this specter following his every move, silent, and watching. He didn't even _know_ Billy, not really, not besides the intimate feeling of his fist on the sensitive parts of his face. They spilled blood together, maybe that was it, why Steve has Casper the not-so-friendly ghost hanging around, but it was starting to piss him off.

Either he should stick around and torture Steve for real or he could fuck off like every other decent dead person had before him. 

But spring continued, thawing everything in its path, bringing warmth and color back into the world, and finally a path for Steve to follow.

He finds it in the woods, on one of his routine walks. Something Dustin suggested to help clear his mind. It hadn't done much for him before besides dirting his one good pair of tennis shoes up until this point.

It's not like how Nancy or Jonathan described it, the webbed fleshy rip in the universe they'd found their night of chasing the Demogorgon. What Steve finds almost looks like stairs, roots of trees and rocks and dirt hewn into steps down and down into a dark he can not hope to see through. But there is a current of air brushing his face, sickly sweet, and culling and he knows, somehow he knows that Billy is down there. 

There were ways he could have planned better, people he could have called to bring along. Robin and her intelligent mind, Dustin and his quick thinking, maybe even Erica and her ruthless tenacity but- the doorway was here now, and there was no telling if it would stay. So it was just him, a one-man army with only a pair of house keys and a pack of bubblegum in his jacket pockets to aid him. 

The stairs carry on for some time, and the warmth of the spring day behind him fades, to a wet cold that sinks down to the very marrow of his bones. But he keeps walking, down and down and down, hands guiding him along walls of dirt and stone. He doesn't know how he's not scared. He's felt unimaginable fear in these last few years, facing things that shouldn't possibly be real. But each of his steps is sure until he sees the light at the very end.

It isn't strong but it guides him nonetheless, his hands and feet coming into focus once again. It's like no light he's known before, not cast from the sun, or even artificially. There is no warmth in it as it hits his face. He is in the forest again, and there is ash falling around him. He knows he shouldn't be able to breathe it, but it settles on his shoulders and hair, but his lungs keep pumping and he's fine. He keeps walking. He knows the way, Max has directed him before. Through the ethereal empty streets of this pseudo-Hawkins. Abandoned even by its monsters, Steve walks and he tries not to think, about how he can breathe and how he knows where Billy Hargrove will be at the end of this trail.

The Hargrove's house sits desolate and quiet, but there is a porch light on, flickering with a warmth that draws Steve in like a moth to a flame. 

He considers ringing the doorbell, a silly normal notion that puts a smile to his lips before he turns the handle of the door and steps in. Everything in its place, everything as orderly as this world allows. There is a door at the end of the hall, and Steve knows that's a room Max refuses to go now, left sitting to collect dust. He steps in, the door hanging wide behind him. and his footsteps make no noise.

So once he hears the creak of floorboards behind him he very nearly turns to look.

 _Wouldn't do that if I were you_ \- The voice intones softly, and Steve lets his eyes drop shut with a sigh of relief. A sigh of the inevitable being completed.

"So it's one of those stories, huh?" He asks to the empty in front of him, straining his ears for movement behind him. There is nothing though.

 _Isn't it always?_ \- the voice queries back, as intangible as fog and mist and Steve clenches his eyes tight. 

"Gotta say you made a piss poor choice with me. I'm not as reliable as you might think," He says but he is here and he's the only one here so he doesn't know why he's arguing with the ghost behind him.

 _It's pretty cold down here, you mind leading the way upstairs?_ \- The voice asks, ignoring the self-deprecating humor, and Steve nods and with his eyes still closed turns.

"You're going to need to get behind me. Don't make a sound until we're through." The voice does not answer, but he can hear the footsteps retreating, back around, and finally, _finally_ , Steve opens up his eyes again and begins the walk back.

There should be more to the challenge, as any story would tell you, as _this_ story has told before but Steve keeps his eyes forward. He walks and he doesn't look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth- on that off chance the gift horse turns to salt if he looks over his shoulder. 

Red lightning streaks the sky, and Steve can see only his shadow flash on the ground but he doesn't turn, knowns somehow, a story deep inside him telling him _no, no not this time. You won't turn around._

He starts running at the border of the forest, his eyes catching sight of that familiar, unfamiliar trail, and he knows the person behind him can keep up, has always been able to keep up. The grey and ash-filled forest is a maze but he's had it solved in his head before he even took the first step down. And in the darkness on the stairs up, he knows the way, where to place each step, how to lead a shade to salvation. He thinks maybe he was meant for this, the one son at the very end of the family line able to take those final steps without letting someone down. 

And then he can see the light and he feels the elation, the cold turn to warmth, and he thinks this is where the danger lies. 

He doesn't turn around until he reaches the tree opposite the entrance and he still doesn't turn when he places his palms upon its rough bark. It is grounding and he wants to cry because he did it, and he hopes he's not crazy and he can't turn around now because-

“Steve?" This voice is no mist or fog, this voice is tangible and human and it is right as his shoulder bleeding life. His shoulders sag and he presses his palms harder into the tree, the jagged edges of the wood sending slight pinpricks of pain across their nerve endings. 

"I won't turn to seafoam now, no worries," Billy Hargrove sighs, his hand landing firmly on Steve’s shoulder, and finally he peeks. Through a curtain of hair, he sees, those blinding blue eyes, and he blinks.

"Isn't it salt?"

"I think we're both wrong, but it doesn't really matter does it?" Billy asks, and Steve swallows, standing taller, letting his hands drop to his sides as he soaks in the image before him. He has questions, bubbling inside him, hows and whys, that will need to be answered. But for now, he looks.

"No, no I don't think it does.”

"It's Spring," Billy says, his eyes looking up at the freshly green trees, and the sunlight, now seemingly as precious as gold, streaming through the canopy. 

"Yeah," Steve breathes out, and Billy nods, and his eyes fall shut in peace.

"I've always loved Spring.”

Steve lets the quiet sit, the tranquility of spring, and what it brought them pulsing through each of their breaths. 

"There are beers in my fridge back home- if you want one,” Steve says finally because there is no normal now, and he thinks he wants Billy there, in his kitchen. He does. 

“Lead the way,” Billy says, and his smile is not ghostly or weak, it is so vibrant and full of such life that all Steve can do is grin back, and lead the way home.


End file.
